


Lord, What a Difference a Day Makes

by CoffeeStars



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, past pimms, time slip au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeStars/pseuds/CoffeeStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent time travels (he thinks; it’s either that or he’s gone off the deep end once and for all), gets married to some Russian guy built like a tree, acquires two children, one of whom isn’t even his, freaks out, and grows up. In that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord, What a Difference a Day Makes

**Author's Note:**

> oh man i wrote this because i thought this ask was a prompt request and 5k in i was like...wait a minute....hahaha. i also know little hockey knowledge so im apologizing beforehand if the timing of the story makes no sense lol
> 
> go listen to Angelina Jordan's version of What a Difference a Day Makes!! Incredible!!!
> 
> also posted on tumblr at nomorelonelydays :)

It’s been six months since he’s been drafted and five since the texts from Jack stopped coming, not that Kent is counting. Or, more accurately, any form of communication have ceased. Kent knows he’d been unkind in Jack’s time of distress—he often is, believing that brunt starkness can maybe shock Zimms out from his slump and magically back on his feet, if not for next year’s draft. But no. The last time he’d been in the hospital room, Zimms had fixed his hard eyes on him, the very same ones that had looked that him during summer that were so wide and caring, and ground out, “Get _out_ , Parson.”  
  
And Kent, swirling with hurt, anger, and plain confusion, had dropped his Get Well flowers down on the floor, backed up, and made a break for it because he’s a proud coward, but proud nonetheless.  
  
He goes back to his apartment slowly, aching after a long day. His knees hurt, his hips hurt, his back, everything. He should’ve listened to the word “optional” in optional skate, but Kent needs to prove himself, whether it’s to the Aces or Jack or to himself. The better he got, the more indispensable he is. And the more indispensable he becomes, the more power he’ll have to pull Jack in to his team. It’d be his form of apologizing, giving Jack what he’s always wanted. And Kent…he’d get what he’s always wanted.  
  
He’s doing great. More than great, but not enough to be of any influence yet. When he brushes his teeth, throws on an old jersey from the Q, and flops into bed, he fumbles with his phone, hovering over Jack’s name. Just try, his brain supplies. Maybe it’ll be different. It’s been five months.  
  
**[To Zimms  
From Kent; 1:32 AM]**  
Hey.  
Can we talk  
  
Almost immediately, Kent gets a notification, and his heart soars for about half a second.  
  
**[To Kent  
From Automated Phone Service; 1:33 AM]**  
This number you have entered is not a valid mobile number, please—  
  
He tosses his phone and it bounces off the edge of the bed to the carpet below. _Of course_ , he thinks, disgusted at himself for daring to think that he deserved another shot. _Of fucking course._  
  
He goes to sleep on his big, big, empty bed with a half-formed apology on his mind and a hole in his chest. It’s no different from yesterday, or the day before that, so he closes his eyes as his breathing evens out. 

* * *

  
Kent dreams of a small, fleshy boulder taking up residence on his chest and crushing his lungs. He opens his eyes blearily and sees sunlight stream in from the drapes (the drapes are the wrong color—but then again, he’s pretty blind in the mornings) before he sees a child sitting on his body like it’s normal for him to have a child anywhere near him.  
  
“What the—”  
  
“Good morning, Daddy,” the boy informs him. He must be around six, with a mop of golden hair and pudgy, red cheeks. He looks like the face of Gerber. “It’s morning. Let’s make pancakes.”

Kent stares.  
  
“Did I steal you?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. “How do I make you go away?”  
  
“Feed me pancakes,” the child responds just as seriously. And, as if his eyes weren’t big enough, he opens them wider. “Please. That’s the magic word, you said so.”  
  
“Yeah, okay, I say a lot of things. I’m going to close my eyes now, and when I open them, you’ll be g—”  
  
A figure next to him stirs ominously, and Kent automatically reaches for the boy, ready to roll off the bed if the lump attacked or something. He hadn’t even _noticed_ that he isn’t alone on the bed. But no—a mess of brown hair peeks out just so, as if waiting for the boy the make a move.  
  
“ _Papa_ ,” the kid screeches happily, then scrambles off Kent’s stomach (Kent gets the air knocked out of him for a split moment as the child digs his foot in a little harder than he would’ve liked) to hop onto the lump. He pulls off the covers and reveals a very rumpled, handsome face that was decidedly _not_ Jack’s. Or any man Kent has ever met, in fact. He wants to scream, but the boy’s voice is louder than his own as he suddenly garbles out a bunch of alien words Kent’s mind fails to process. Fuck, this must be aliens. He’s been abducted.  
  
The man sits up with an over-dramatized roar, and the boy falls back instantly, giggling. Kent’s brain wants to cry or explode.  
  
“No,” he manages to rasp out. “What—loud? Why loud—”  
  
“Alright, think Dad has enough,” the man rumbles in English with a slight accent, sparing Kent an apologetic glance before leaning down and pressing a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. Kent thinks something in his head is fizzing. “Will make pancake to say sorry.”  
  
“Uh—”  
  
“Go, Leo, I make pancakes,” Strange Man shoos gently, and the boy goes running. “Need to put on shirt first.”  
  
Oh, God, Kent realizes. He’s not wearing a shirt. He’s got a naked man in his bed and he’s stolen a child. The NHL will never let him back in now.  
  
“—chocolate chip, yes, Kenny?”  
  
“Huh—what?”  
  
“I said, ‘want chocolate chip in your pancake instead, yes?’” the man repeats patiently, as if he is aware of Kent’s morning incoherency.  
  
“I like chocolate chip,” Kent says dumbly.  
  
“Good,” the man says. “Because we are out of Nutella.”  
  
Kent blinks, and the guy pauses in pulling his shirt on for just a moment.  
  
“You not going to—Zimmboni say, ‘pull a fit’—that we have no Nutella?” he asks, feigning surprise. “Even though you did shopping last, so I say still your fault we have no Nutella?”  
  
“What—how fucking _rude_ , I do not ‘pull fits’—”  
  
The man sits down by him on the edge of the mattress. “Bitty and Zimmboni bring Annie over at ten. You sure you awake by then?”  
  
“Who the hell is Bitty?” He doesn’t even try to ask about Zimmboni, whoever the fuck that is, or why some random man had just kissed him and is making up names like he’s pulling them from his ass. He’s probably still dreaming.    
  
The guy shoots him a look like they’ve been through this before.  
  
“Haha,” he deadpans. “I thought you two not fight anymore when Bitty give you jam.”  
  
“I don’t think I can fight someone I don’t know,” Kent says hesitantly. Or…can he? “What does jam have to do with this?”  
  
“Always dramatic,” the man says. “Like Mariah Carey.”  
  
“I resent that,” Kent fumes, forgetting himself momentarily. “Mariah Carey is an icon.”  
  
“ _Papa_ ,” a voice calls from down the hall. “Do we have Nutella?”  
  
“Uh-oh,” the man chuckles to Kent, who’s still gaping, and cups one side of Kent’s face with his giant hand. “Monster demand Nutella.”  
  
He fixes Kent with a blindingly adoring stare, and if Kent isn’t so freaked out, he would’ve registered that _that_ is the exact type of smile that normal Kent totally eats up. Kent thinks Jack used to look at him like that, but now he isn’t so sure.   
  
“Who are you?” he says in wonder, almost to himself.  
  
“Right now? Maybe be pancake man,” the man answers fondly, like he thinks Kent is being silly on purpose. Then he starts cracking up softly at his own stupid joke like it’s funny. “Better wake up fast or Zimmboni not want to leave Annie here anymore.”  
  
When the guy leaves to make pancakes or whatever the hell is happening, Kent lies back down on a bed he doesn’t remember going to sleep in and passes out for another thirty minutes before he wakes up, still in the same fucking room that’s not his bedroom in Vegas.  
  
“Daddy,” the child yells again. “Pancake time.”  
  
“Okay,” he calls back, after a minute of consideration. He has nothing to do for today anyways. He can live in dreamland for a bit longer before he really starts questioning his sanity.

* * *

The chocolate chip pancakes are amazing. That, combined with the coffee the guy makes him, settles heavy and pleasant in his stomach, makes Kent come to the conclusion that he isn’t dreaming, which leaves the other options of dimensional traveling or time traveling. This should short-circuit him a lot more than he’s reacting, but Kent can’t remember the last time someone cooked for him.  
  
He hasn’t worked up the courage to ask the man his name, but he knows the little one is called Leo, and Leo is steadily decimating his third pancake, chocolate smeared all over his mouth. He rubs his ring (not a Stanley, but a thin, golden band that matches the one on the stranger’s hand) and tries to not act too out of place. Who knows if the guy will think he’s mentally unstable if he starts asking the wrong questions and ship him off to the asylum—do asylums still even exist? After the guy had handed him a cat paw-print coffee mug (way more milk than coffee, the way Kent himself makes it) and goes to produce more pancakes, Kent studies him. The man’s tall, at least over 6 feet, and he has on a well-worn Falconers t-shirt, which Kent knows to be a team on the east coast. The name says “Mashkov,” and it sounds vaguely familiar, but Kent can’t quite place where he remembers it from. At least he’s a hockey fan, if not an Aces fan.  
  
Kent clears his throat. _Play it cool, Parse._ “So. What’s on the agenda today?”  
  
“Annie come play,” Leo pipes up without ever looking up from his eggs. “Go skating.”  
  
“I think Annie maybe little young for skate,” the guy says. “We can watch you and Dad, how does that sound?”  
  
Leo shrugs noncommittally. The cell phone on the table rings—not any version Kent’s ever seen before—and by the way the man is looking at him, Kent feels like he should pick up. He barely sees the name flashing on the screen before he answers.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“ _Kenny?_ ”  
  
Kent nearly drops the phone. He never thought he’d hear that voice again, unless it was shouting at him to leave.  
  
“Zimms?” he chokes out, hopeful and scared. “Is that you?”  
  
“ _Yeah, it’s me, Kenny,_ ” says Jack, sounding amused and frazzled at the same time. “ _Listen, Bitty is swamped, something happened with the cake delivery and it’s—”_ Kent hears muffled yelling in the background. “— _it’s been a long morning. I need to help him before we get ready to go to the wedding, do you mind if we brought Annie a little early?”  
  
_ “Um.” He spares Leo and the man a glance. He head is stuck on the words ‘wedding,’ ‘cake,’ and ‘Bitty,’ and nothing is stringing together coherently. “Yes? Sure? How early?”  
  
The doorbell rings.  
  
“ _I’m outside.”  
  
_ Kent looks up with a start. He stands up, lowering the phone, and then decides to make a mad dash to the front door. When he swings it open, his breath catches at the sight of Jack Zimmermann, taller than he remembered and bigger, too, his once long, messy dark hair now styled to a shorter trim. For some reason, he looks older, almost like Bad Bob himself, if it weren’t for the eyes. He is wearing flannel as he supports a baby in one arm, a diaper bag in the other. Beside him stands a shorter blond, flour in his hair another smaller backpack on his shoulder.  
  
“Sorry,” Jack says, and his voice sounds just as Kent remembers it, warm and embarrassed. “We owe you.”  
  
“Zimmboni! Bitty!” the man crows from the back. “You come an hour early!”  
  
“Hey, Tater,” Jack greets. “Say hello to Uncle Tater, Annie.”  
  
“ _Tater_?” Kent breaks his gaze at Jack to look at the man—Tater. “Seriously?”  
  
“I’m _so_ sorry about this, y’all,” the shorter blond moans as a man named Tater (Kent cannot believe this) reaches out for the baby, cradling her like he’s used to carrying small children. “The delivery car messed up with Lardo and Shi— _Mr. Crappy_ ’s cake. Good thing I made a backup, but I still have to put it together and there’re just not enough hands at the bakery on a Saturday—”  
  
“It’s okay, Bits,” Jack soothes, handing the diaper bag to Kent and looping his arm around Bitty’s waist. “The reception’s not until late afternoon. Plenty of time.”  
  
“I hate working on a deadline,” Bitty groans, then turns to Kent. “You know the drill. Everything she could want is there—her blanket, pacifier, and extra change of clothes, her jacket, we’ll only be gone for the day—” He suddenly gasps, horrified. “Oh, God. Jack, sweetheart, I forgot—”  
  
Jack pulls out this old, brown toy rabbit from the bag Tater has slung over his arms and places it gently right on top of the baby’s chest.  
  
“I remembered, Bits, Señor Bun’s right here,” Jack says. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. She loves Kent and Alexei and—” Jack looks down between Kent and Alexei’s legs, where Leo had wedged himself in, blinking silently up at Jack. “—and Leo. Hey, there,” he says, offering a fist bump, which Leo returns.  
  
“He’s getting so big. Hey, there, baby, remember me?” Bitty brightens, bending down and ruffling Leo’s hair, making him laugh. He wipes something off Leo’s cheek. “Got chocolate on your face.”  
  
“You’re the pie maker,” Leo says. “Beety.”  
  
Jack stifles a snort, but Bitty jumps right in with, “That’s right, honey,” and produces a small, wrapped mini-pie from his back. “Guess the flavor.”  
  
“Oreo,” Leo whispers, taking the gift with stars in his eyes. “Thank you.”  
  
“I’ll get you to like peach pie one day,” Bitty mutters, then chirps up at Kent, who jumps, “Not gonna tell me to stop giving your son cavities, Kent?”  
  
“What?” he says. “Who, _this_ kid?”  
  
“Papa makes pancakes,” Leo cuts in.  
  
“Only thing I can make,” Alexei adds mournfully.    
  
“You should come over then,” Jack says. “Our fridge is about to burst and Bits is still trying to put more butter in there—”  
  
“At least it’s stocked with real food and not, I don’t know, sriracha bottles and beer,” Bitty sniffs. He seems to recall the time, and the panic returns to his face. “We should go. Annie—” He turns to the baby and kisses her little cheeks. She yawns, clearly having been scooped out from bed an hour too soon. “Daddy and Papa will be back when you’re sleeping, so be good, okay?”  
  
Jack does the same and murmurs a string of French—Kent catches the words ‘good’ and ‘my love’—and lightly squeezes her little baby hands before letting them go. His expression is softer than anything Kent has ever witnessed on Jack’s face. Kent catches a glimpse of silver on his left ring finger, and he knows with a clench in his heart that he’s seen a matching one on Bitty’s hand.  
  
“Thank you,” he says warmly to Kent and Alexei, gripping Kent’s shoulder. “We’ll be back tonight.”  
  
They leave in a flurry and Kent is left with one more child and a million more questions than he had started with. 

* * *

  
Annie is a quiet baby, but she moves faster than any baby on all fours has the right to. Leo is having a blast with her though, following closely behind and rolling on the carpet and babbling his copied version of her baby nonsense. A fat cat that Leo calls Kit Purrson (Kent rolls his eyes, but that is definitely something he’d name a cat if he had one) strolls in mid-play to rub its head on Kent’s ankles, all orange and white patches and a mean ass glare, but it lets itself be picked up by Leo like a sack of rice and carried around.  
  
Alexei, his apparent husband, has Annie surrounded with a wall of pillows where she sits, gnawing on an alphabet block as Leo drives his Transformers around her. After tickling her and getting Annie to accidently let loose the most ear-piercing kiddy screech/laugh within ten miles, she seems content to watch Leo with his toys and Alexei lounging on the nearby chair, flipping through his Kindle with reading glasses like a grandpa.    
  
Kent’s sitting on the sofa, trying to not make it obvious that he’s picked the farthest location from Alexei and the children without actually withdrawing from the living room. He’s managed to unlock his phone when his thumb pressed too long on the home button, which is cool as hell and makes him feel like James Bond. The contact names and his call history mean nothing to him, but he sees that he’s sent his mom a photo of Alexei, Leo, and himself, apparently at a beach, all white sand and blue skies. He’s giving Leo a kiss on his cheek, and Alexei’s smile is incredibly bright. After the photo is a video still, where Leo is riding on Alexei’s shoulders and Kent is nowhere to be seen. Kent sneaks a glance at Alexei, who is still absorbed in his Kindle, and lowers the volume to one bar on his device before pressing play.  
  
“ _Alyosha, you know I don’t like it when you put him on your shoulders,_ ” Kent hears himself say in the video. He grimaces; when did he turn into such a nagging mom? “ _What if he falls?_ ”  
  
“ _He will not!”_ video-Alexei says cheerfully. “ _Doing okay up there, Leo_?”  
  
“ _I’m okay!”  
  
“Tell grandma where you are,” _ video-Kent’s voice comes. “ _Jesus, Alyosha, your tank top tan is going to look atrocious.”_  
  
“ _Good thing jersey covers it.”  
  
“Hi Grandma!” _ video-Leo chortles. “ _We’re in Tampa!”  
  
“And where are you going tomorrow?”  
  
_ “ _Disneyworld!”_ Leo yells and throws his hands up, and that swift little motion is enough for him to lose balance and topple backwards. “ _Woah—”  
  
“_ Oh my God, Alexei, catch him—!”  
  
The camera shakes and cuts to black. Kent puts the phone down. If this is a dream, it’s a terrifyingly detailed one, but the contents do confuse Kent. Kent’s not stupid. He’s aware that he’s still thirsting after Jack deep beneath layers and layers of fury, loneliness, and self-blame. He’s not sure why his head is trying to tell him that his deep dark secret is to have a family with a Russian man and occasionally babysit for Jack and his Southern baker husband. Maybe his brain is just telling him that he’s a huge masochist, which doesn’t really make him feel better.  
  
“Tampa trip?” Alexei asks from his spot. Kent twitches.  
  
“Uh, yeah, just looking at some videos,” Kent says awkwardly, and Alexei makes a noise like ‘hn,’ which Kent has no idea what _that_ means. “So, uh. Don’t you gotta go to work or something?”  
  
Alexei throws him a strange look. “Playoffs already over,” he replies, like it’s supposed to mean something to Kent.  
  
“Right,” Kent says. “Cool. Playoffs.”  
  
Alexei tilts his head and elaborates, “Kenny, I have Saturdays off.”  
  
“Oh. I knew that.”  
  
“Do you feel okay today?”  
  
Kent already knows if he could sweat drop like in the cartoons, he’d be leaking buckets. “I feel great,” he says. “Never been better…Alexei,” he adds, trying out the name. It doesn’t feel quite right.  
  
Alexei still looks unconvinced, and he seems like he’s about to pursue it but Leo suddenly asks, “Papa, when we going to skate?”  
  
“Skate?” Alexei sounds startled, like he’s forgotten all about it. “I guess, if everyone is ready we can go right now—”  
  
“I’m ready,” Leo hollers and throws his Transformers into the toy chest. Annie blows a spit bubble.  
  
“Me, too?” Kent supplies, but Alexei just nods.  
  
Kent’s going to give that kid a candy bar later or something. He thinks, _Small blessings_.  

* * *

  
The Providence Ice Rink—great, he isn’t even in Vegas—is sandwiched inside a mall and under the food court, and from the glass windows above Kent can already see a few families scattered here and there, parents rushing to pick up their kids who’d slipped but have already scrambled up from the ice themselves. There’s a girl there in a pink tutu who’s actually figure skating like a pro, and Kent makes a mental note to steer clear of her lest he gets gutted by her skates during those spins. Before they go in, Alexei pushes a baseball cap on Kent’s head.  
  
“What the—”  
  
“You be Falconer today,” Alexei says proudly as he dons his own cap. “Look good.”  
  
Leo is ecstatic as he drags Kent onto the ice, having already bundled himself up after Alexei ties his laces.  
  
“Daddy, do the thing with the ice,” Leo begs, jumping up and down. “Like in your games when you go really fast and turn and then make snow!”  
  
“Go, Kenny,” Alexei says, chuckling. Kent’s seriously not going to get used to Alexei looking at him like he’s the best thing since grilled cheese. He’s unbuckling Annie from the stroller as she flaps her arms around. “I watch Annie.”  
  
“Dad, watch me, I’m getting better at this,” Leo says as he grasps Kent’s wrist, and Kent lets himself be led to the ice.  
  
He skates a few rounds with Leo, holding his hand probably a little too tightly because Leo complains about it, and navigating around the 12-year-old self-proclaimed pro figure skater whose skates slices through the air like a horizontal guillotine. He’s surprised at how naturally he takes to skating with Leo and shielding him from potential dangers, and he’s starting to kind of like looking up every once in a while at Alexei and see him sitting on the bleachers with Annie in his arms, waving her little toddler hands at Leo and Kent.  
  
As he watches Alexei beam at him from the stands, he nearly stumbles right over a little boy who is too busy gawking at him to realize that Kent had almost ran him over.  
  
“Are you Kent Parson?” the kid gapes.  
  
Leo butts in before Kent can answer and says helpfully, “Yeah, he’s my dad.”  
  
The kid only stares some more as he says, “My dad says the Aces _suck_.”  
  
Kent doesn’t really know what to say to a 7 year old stranger whose dad has terrible taste.  
  
“Oh,” he says. “That’s…too bad?”  
  
But the kid only nods regretfully. “You’re my favorite, Mr. Parson,” he says, and Kent’s awkwardness melts into a puddle because he’s middle-aged now in this fever dream and with age came inconvenient sentimentality. Then the boy’s face grows mournful. “I was gonna ask for an autograph, but I don’t hafa pen.”  
  
Kent paws around for his phone, then bends down to the kid’s eye level.  
  
“Tell you what,” he says. “Do you see that guy over there, with the kid on his lap?” The boy nods, so Kent continues. “He’s my…that’s Leo’s Papa, and I bet he’ll be real glad to take a picture of us.”  
  
They go to Alexei, who’s surrounded by two moms who are busy cooing over Annie.  
  
“She’s so sweet,” one mom says, brushing her curls off her forehead with a finger. “Is she yours?”  
  
“No,” Alexei says. “Just babysit for friend today.” He sees Leo run up to him and crash into his thigh with a hug, and he pats him on the head. “This one is mine!”  
  
“Alexei,” Kent says. The moms look up at him, their eyes widening with recognition and Kent sees the “Are you—” question about to drop from their lips. “Can you take a photo of, ah, Jaime and I?”  
  
“Of course.” Alexei juggles Annie’s weight to his left arm and uses his thumb to focus the frame. “There, good?”  
  
Jaime nods vigorously, and Kent wonders if he’s ever looked at Jack like Jaime is looking at Alexei now, with stars in his eyes and full of amazement. “Thank you, Mr. Tater.”  
  
“I’m hungry, Papa,” Leo says, hoisting himself up on Alexei’s thighs to look at Annie. “Can we get a hot dog?”  
  
“Don’t know, Leo,” Alexei replies doubtfully. “Don’t think Dad will be too happy about junk food.”  
  
Kent raises an eyebrow at that, because he’s somewhat of a connoisseur of instant ramen and Kraft Mac and Cheese. He shrugs. “It’s probably not good for you,” he guesses, like he hasn’t been eating takeout from the fake Chinese food place around the corner for the last month.  
  
But then Leo turns the puppydog eyes on turbo, and Kent’s resolve wavers.  
  
“Maybe one hot dog won’t kill him,” Kent stammers.    
  
They manage to escape, but not before a couple more photos (another kid actually comes up to them with a Sharpie, insisting that Alexei sign his forehead; Alexei looks like the type who can’t say no to kids, so Kent helps them take a photo instead, and the dad throws him this grateful look) and a combined amount of three hot dogs from the food court (Leo eats one, Alexei the other 1.9, and Kent about 0.1—he takes one bite). He counts it as pretty successful, because both Annie and Leo knock out after ten minutes in the car. 

* * *

  
Alexei is funnier than Kent had expected, with his accent and deadpan delivery of phrases and dad jokes that wouldn’t be interesting if told by anyone else. Kent finds himself snorting softly at a story Alexei tells him on the way back, something about pucks and a Greek restaurant, while looking behind him every so often at Annie and Leo passed out in the backseat like an anxious parent.  
  
“What’s the matter?” Alexei asks.  
  
“They’re so…” Kent furrows his brows. He wants to say he’s not around kids very often, but he thinks that might be a weird thing for Alexei to hear. “They’re both just so little.”  
  
“Eh,” Alexei shrugs. “Then I call Annie.”  
  
Kent doesn’t know what Alexei even means by that until they drive into their parking space and Alexei quickly swoops Annie’s little frame up, leaving Kent with Leo, who is deceivingly heavy despite how small he’d been, curled up in the back. As they walk towards the front door, and even from afar when they’d been in the car, Kent can tell their house is a quaint, sunny, suburb-y place. He’s usually lived in rickety apartments with his mom, but he knows she grew up in a single home with the front lawn and the works, so Kent had planned to move in to one of these once he retired. He’s told one person—that being Jack—but it’s entirely another thing to see it in real life.  
  
Leo is drooling a patch on his shoulder, and Kent thanks the NHL practices for the first time because he doesn’t think he’d be able to carry Leo for this long otherwise. Kent tucks Leo in, checks out the posters hockey bigshots and Transformers peppered on the walls, and has to stifle a pained curse when he steps on a tiny Lego on the way out. He closes the door behind him, and is reminded that he doesn’t live alone when almost immediately gets cornered by Alexei.  
  
“Who the fu—oh, it’s you.” Kent feels Alexei’s hand sliding his hands from his sides to his hips, which feels good, but he’s known the man for less than 24 hours, and he’s trying to not to lose it in bizarro world. “What are you doing?”  
  
Alexei lets out a string of foreign gibberish that Kent can only guess is Russian, but it’s deep and suggestive and Kent doesn’t think Alexei is talking about baby formulas. Kent places his palms on Alexei’s shoulder and nudges him backwards. Alexei slips his hands in Kent’s back pocket and pushes Kent forward and, oh, there is definitely something pressing against Kent’s leg.  
  
“Have one hour, maybe forty-five minutes,” Alexei says hotly into Kent’s ear. “Just enough time.”  
  
Oh, God, apparently in this universe he’s turned into one of those parents who keep their sex lives active by sneaking quickies between their own kid’s naps. Kent tries to distance them as he asks, “To do _what_?” as if he doesn’t already have an idea.  
  
“Whatever you like,” Alexei says into his throat, and a shiver goes up Kent’s spine.  
  
When he tries to mouth on Kent’s collarbone, Kent pushes him back. “No, wait, wait—”    
  
Alexei looks bewildered, leans in as if he wants to kiss Kent, but Kent realizes he is only testing him as he pulls back instantly when he notices Kent trying to subtly avoid Alexei’s face. He moves the hands away from Kent’s hips and starts to rub at his arms.  
  
“Feel okay today?” he asks, sobering up. “For sure?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Kent lies. “Definitely.”  
  
“You tell me if something wrong,” Alexei says sternly, like an age-old argument. “I will fix. Don’t have to do alone. Never have to do alone anymore.”  
  
“I get it, I’m not two,” Kent grouses, but he’s touched by Alexei’s determination. Having someone caring this fiercely about him isn’t terrible at all, and if he’s being honest he’d admit he’s more than craving that feeling these past few months. Then, because he can’t help himself, he adds, “This is coming from a man named Tater. Tell me that’s actually a joke and not a thing.”  
  
“Too late for that,” Alexei says, but he seems satisfied at Kent’s reaction. He squeezes Kent’s right arm for a second and gives Kent that soppy expression again that actually makes Kent’s heart beat faster. He can’t help it. It’s been a while since he’s gotten that look from anyone. “I go pick up groceries then, if you don’t want—”  
  
“Groceries,” Kent agrees in a way that he hopes isn’t too frantic. “Groceries are important. Need more…more Nutella.”  
  
“Nutella?”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
“Okay,” Alexei says, just like he’d done in the morning, looking all affectionate and loving, then springs out of nowhere like it’s nobody’s business, “I love you.”  
  
“I—” _They’re just words, Parse_ , Kent thinks. He may be in an alternate universe or time traveling, but his throat still feels stuck as he realizes with a start that he wouldn’t mind a life like this. “You—yeah, okay. Good. That’s good. Great to know.” His lower lip trembles. “I…me, too.” Then he kisses the corner of Alexei’s mouth very lightly, telling himself that Alexei’s husband probably does this like it’s no big, even though Kent is freaking out at the fact that he wants to kiss Alexei. “Go buy groceries.”  
  
After Alexei finally leaves, Kent gets about five minutes to himself before he hears Annie whimpering from the guest bedroom. She truly is small, and it breaks Kent’s heart just listening to her as she scrunches up her face and make these tiny, breathy cries. He scoops her up and lays her on his chest carefully, rocking her and making what he hopes are soothing noises, like the ones he’s seen Alexei do earlier.  
  
“Shh,” he says gently. “Shh, don’t cry, Annie. It’s okay. Do you need to be changed? No? Good, I have no idea how to do that. Are you hungry?” Kent rummages through the backpack that Bitty had thrusted at him, finding a package of applesauce, some rice cereal powder thing, and crackers in the shape of stars that are “guaranteed to melt in your child’s mouth.” It sounds sort of dangerous, if not unnerving, so Kent puts that back.  
  
He ends up taking the oatmeal powder to the kitchen and warming up some water in the microwave before blending the goop. Annie’s small “hneh, hneh” sounds are dying down, but she still seems agitated.  
  
“Wanna try the porridge thing?” He moves the spoon closer, but Annie’s not taking the bait. “Mm, babies love this crap. Yum. Here, I’ll try it first.” He shouldn’t have been this surprised that it tastes like absolutely nothing. “It’s okay, I guess. Not hungry? Then how about we explore the house, huh? You and me, sweetie, I’ve never been in this place before, and it sounds like you have. Let’s go explore.”  
  
He goes to the living room and carefully steps over a stray Lego piece to the fireplace mantel, where a line of frames and hockey memorabilia decorate the top.  
  
“Oh, this is really weird,” Kent says, then points for Annie, whose eyes have gone wide as she follows Kent’s fingers to the photos. “See, there’s a puck. And there’s me in that photo, isn’t that funny? Can you tell which one is me? I’m right here, Annie, I’m holding that silver bucket, isn’t that—” The words die on his lips. “—the Cup.”  
  
Kent is hoisting the Stanley Cup over his head, surrounded by a bunch of other guys in Aces colors. The Kent in the photo is grinning, his eyes wild as teammates reach out to ruffle his hair and confetti rains down. There’s a white C on his chest, and Kent brushes a finger on it.  
  
“Jesus,” he says faintly. “I did it.”  
  
Alexei, looking slightly younger, is in the next photo, also with the Cup with his teammates. But despite the line of pictures, Kent notices that these two are the only hockey-related ones. The rest are all shots of Leo and Alexei eating ice cream, Leo and Kent and Alexei making faces at the camera, Kent’s mother holding a baby Leo in her lap, Kent holding baby Leo up by the arms and walking him, and so on. The one in the middle is one of just Kent and Alexei. Alexei clearly has his arms wrapped around Kent’s waist, and Kent’s arms are folded in, his body snug against Alexei chest as he kisses Alexei’s cheek and Alexei grinning like he’s won the lottery.  
  
Kent’s eyes flit to the photo where Alexei is in Falconers white and blue. A teammate’s back is to the camera, the person’s face probably also roaring enthusiastically at Alexei, but the jersey spells out the name “Zimmermann,” and everything that’s happened in the last month crashes back into Kent’s memories. He hasn’t won any Stanleys. Jack Zimmermann would rather stab Kent than give him his child to babysit. And most importantly, he’s not married to Alexei and living a charmed, suburban life where his biggest concern at the moment seems to be watching his son’s dietary needs and turning his nose up at food court hot dogs. He doesn’t have any of it, and Alexei doesn’t exist, much less love him. But he can’t wake up, he can’t stay, he doesn’t want to leave, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing.  
  
Annie makes a soft whine as Kent carries her to the love seat, sitting down and trying not to panic. He decides to do the first thing he thinks of when he used to flip out when he was in the Q before a game: he fishes his phone out from his pockets and makes a call.  
  
“ _Hello?_ ” Jack says loudly, like he’s trying to talk over a crowd. Kent hears laughing and music in the background. “ _Kenny? Is everything okay_?  
  
Kent takes a deep breath, and counts to three. “Everything’s…everything’s fine.”  
  
“ _You sure?_ ” _Jack always knew him best_ , Kent thinks.  
  
“No,” Kent says quietly. “No, man, I’m freaking out.”  
  
“ _Huh?_ ” Jack’s voice turns urgent. “ _What’s wrong? Is it Annie? Where’s Tater?”  
  
_ “He’s buying Nutella. Or something. I don’t know. I think he’s buying Nutella, but I don’t know where he is. Annie’s fine. I have her right here. She’s trying to eat her fist.”  
  
“ _Um, okay?_ ” His voice relaxes somewhat. “ _So what’s up?”  
  
_ “I don’t know. I just—don’t say I’m crazy, okay? Promise me you won’t say I’m crazy.”  
  
“ _Okay, Kenny_ ,” Jack says, and the less hysterical part of Kent’s brain thinks that Jack sounds almost identical to Bad Bob. “ _I promise. Tell me what’s wrong_.”  
  
“I…” He counts to ten this time. Jack waits patiently, and Kent prays he’s still there even though the line is nearly silent. “I woke up today, and I wasn’t in Vegas. I’m married and I have a _son._ I’m a Captain, Zimms, and—and you’re talking to me like I never…” He sighs and finishes weakly, “like you don’t hate me.”  
  
Jack is quiet for some time as if he’s digesting the information. “ _I don’t hate you_ ,” he says finally, still sounding confused. “ _What makes you say that?_ ”  
  
“I thought first, okay, maybe I’m dreaming, but then it’s _not_ a dream and Alexei is—he’s so—and Leo, and then you show up and _you’re_ married and there’s Annie, and I’m getting sucked into it—” He stops. “Zimms, are we okay? Are we really okay?”  
  
“ _Um, I’m guessing that’s not a philosophical question_ ,” Jack says, then clears his throat. “ _Were we not okay?_ ”  
  
“I mean—” Kent swallows thickly. “I’ve been shitty to you. I never apologized. For what happened after the draft—after you…you know. So this is me, apologizing. You’re not…what I said you were. You’re amazing. You’ve won the Cup. You’re an amazing player and person. One of the best. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”  
  
Jack is laughing, his sound tinny but kind. “ _Where’s this coming from? The 2009 draft? That’s so long ago_.” Kent detects a smile in Jack’s voice. “ _Kent, you’ve already apologized. We’re good_.”  
  
“How? When did I—?”  
  
“ _It was a bad time for both of us. It took me a long time to get it, but now, I have Bitty, I have Annie, I have a job doing what I love. I’m really happy I still have you in my life. You’re important to me, Kenny. You’ve always been important.”  
  
_ Kent hears a waver in his own voice. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“ _Have you been thinking about that the entire day?_ ” Jack asks gently. “ _Is that why you’ve been acting so strange in the morning?_ ”  
  
“I—yeah.” Kent sighs. “I just don’t want to wake up again and be back where I can’t even call you.”  
  
“ _Kenny, we’re good. I promise you. You called me…I think about six month after that? Approximately? Just out of nowhere, I had no idea how you got my new number. But I’m glad you did.”_  
  
“Six months,” Kent repeats in wonder, counting backwards in his head. “It’s been six months.” He goes back and searches for Jack’s number on the screen, trying to sear it into his head.  
  
“ _Yeah. Hey, Bits is here. Want to Facetime_?”  
  
“What’s Facetime—” Kent begins, but a new call is already flashing and requesting a response. Kent touches the green button and a closeup of Jack’s nose fills the screen.  
  
“ _Is this right, Bits?”_ Kent hears laughing, then Jack and Bitty’s faces, now at a reasonably distance, show up.  
  
“ _Hi, Kent! Hope everything is going alright. Oh, is that Annie?”_ Bitty is radiant. “ _Hi, sweetheart, having fun? Daddy and Papa miss you so much!”  
  
_ Annie babbles happily and grasp at the air in front of the phone screen. Kent listens to Bitty talk about the reception and Jack raving about how Bitty’s cake had been a huge hit at someone named Shitty and Lardo’s wedding. Jack has Bitty tucked in to his side the entire time, and they’re both looking so giddy and happy that Kent can’t find it in himself to wish that he is next to Jack instead of Bitty. He finds that he doesn’t particularly want to, anyways. Jack throws Bitty these sappy glances every once in a while, and damned if Kent doesn’t remember perfectly where he’s been seeing the exact same ones being given to him by someone else.  
  
They talk for only a few minutes before Annie starts fussing after being trapped in Kent’s lap for longer than she wants. Jack and Bitty give their goodbyes, blows kisses for Annie, and leaves Kent alone again, with the mantel full of memories he’s never lived before and one photo where Alexei looks like he’s spinning Kent and photo-Kent is laughing, laughing, laughing, like he’s never cried himself to sleep over Jack, like he’s never lashed out at the people he love, like he’s whole again.  
  
There’s shuffling near the hallway, and Kent turns his head up. “Leo?”  
  
Leo inches forward until he can see Kent’s face, then dashes forward to fasten himself to Kent’s knee.  
  
“What’s wrong, are you okay?”  
  
Leo buries his face in Kent’s stomach as he says, “Don’t be sad, Daddy.”  
  
He runs his fingers through Leo’s hair and smiles. “Not sad,” he says, and even though he’s not completely there yet—not when there’s so many things unsaid and moments he hasn’t experienced—he feels enough for once. His head is quiet, and the buzzing in his heart, instead of being from uncertainty, is coming from having Leo and Alexei and Jack and his family with him. He’s loved, and he can start from there. “Look, baby, I’ll be alright.”  
  
Kit meows from her corner, and spreads herself flat like a cat puddle, lounging luxuriously on the carpet.  
  
“Is that…normal?” Kent starts to ask, but the phone beeps and flashes a short text from Alexei (he thinks).  
  
**[To Kent;  
From Alyosha; 5:43 PM]**  
Can u start dinner? Be back in fifteen minutes. Thank u love u ))))))

* * *

  
Kent’s glad this universe or timeline’s him still enjoys small pleasures like Kraft Mac and Cheese enough to stock it in the far back of the pantry, because it’s one of the few things he’s good at making (read: can make). It’s not the healthiest choice, but Kent’s desire to chop vegetables and make burned stir-fry is extremely low. Leo seems excited at the prospect of cheese and carbs in his life, and Annie isn’t bawling her eyes out as Kent holds her at his hip while stirring the pot, so that’s good enough for Kent.  
  
He hears the front door unlatch and Alexei’s footsteps pause for half a beat.  
  
“Mac and cheese?” he asks. “Is this throwback?”  
  
Kent twists his neck around briefly and sees Alexei laden with paper bags. He knows for sure now that Alexei is every bit as great a hockey player as he is in this universe, but right now Alexei looks like one of those overenthusiastic dads at the PTA meetings, which is endearing. “To what?”  
  
“A Kent who can’t cook,” Alexei says, as he unloads the jars and miscellaneous items on the dinner table. Leo starts grabbing at cans of corn and juice boxes from his booster seat.  
  
“When is that supposed to be?”  
  
“Last week,” Alexei says without looking up, but Kent can tell he’s trying to hide a snicker.  
  
“You don’t have to eat it, you know,” Kent says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need this from Pancake Man.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Alexei says. “I buy veggies from Whole Foods. The food triangle is complete now.”  
  
Kent adds milk to the mixture as Leo retells his day to Alexei, who asks questions in all the right places and laughs when it’s appropriate. As Kent bounces Annie in one arm, he starts to feel eyes burning on the back of his neck.  
  
“What are you looking at?” he says.  
  
“Just you,” Alexei says absently.  
  
“Why?” Kent asks flatly. He’s in this oversized shirt and he’s been chasing Leo and Annie around before he actually decided to search for Kraft, so he’s pretty sure his hair is all over the place and he’s kind of sweaty.  
  
“I’m very lucky,” Alexei comments, like he enjoys makes Kent’s heart race for a hobby.  
  
“Um.” Kent’s face heats up but there’s a good feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He looks at Annie, who’s chewing her fist and staring up at Kent with big eyes. “You don’t have to butter me up for mac and cheese.”  
  
“But an Aces Captain is cooking it.”  
  
That jars Kent out from his embarrassing stupor. “Holy shit, I know, right?”  
   
“Dad said a bad,” Leo says.  
  
“Kenny.” Alexei’s tone is disapproving but amused.  
  
“God, I’m sorry. Parenting is hard.”  
  
Alexei cocks his head. “But you are doing it right now.”  
  
Kent stays silent, contemplating that. Alexei switches the subject and says, “I buy cereal from Whole Foods that you want.”  
  
“I go to Whole Foods? God, are you going to say I run a mommy blog next?”  
  
“If you do, you not tell me.” Alexei seems disgruntled as he reads the cereal box. “You know, I don’t think I ever leave that place and not spend over fifty dollars. Only buy cereal and fruit.”  
  
“American capitalism,” Kenny agrees. “That’s how they get you.”  
  
“Liberty and happiness,” Alexei nods, coming up behind Kent and wrapping his arms loosely around his shoulders and Annie. He rests his chin on Kent’s left shoulder, making faces at Annie as Kent soaks up his presence.  
  
“Alexei, what am I doing with Kraft?” he says, when he really wants to ask who he had to kill to earn this moment. “I thought I’m supposed to be one of those organic social justice parents who shop at fair trade places.”  
  
Alexei considers this. “Whole Foods don’t make you good cook,” he says. “Better just stick with mac and cheese and work way up slow.”  
  
Alexei makes an exaggerated, pained “oof” as Kent uses his elbow to jam it into his gut before he chuckles and goes to Leo, who is stacking apple slices on his plate. It’s their little corner, and even though Kent still can’t cook and his husband can only make one breakfast item, Kent hasn’t felt reality this solid and perfect in a while.  

* * *

  
“Was she alright?” Bitty asks, picking a sleeping Annie up from Alexei’s arms. “Was she fussy at all?”  
  
Jack and Bitty are both still in their matching groomsmen dress shirts, silver grey and slightly crumpled. They look tired, but both their expressions still brighten immediately at the sight of Annie.  
  
“She was great,” Kent says, even though Annie did accidentally flick cheese and rice goop on his face and Alexei did nothing but snort. “Better take her back fast or Alexei’s going to steal her away like the old Russian crone he is.”  
  
“Am not,” Alexei says, still playing with Annie’s tiny balled up fists. “Maybe a little,” he admits.  
  
“We really appreciate it, guys,” Jack says. If he remembers the earlier conversation he and Kent had, he doesn’t show it. He turns to Kent kindly and says, “I can always count on you and Tater.”  
  
A thought flashes by Kent’s mind: he’s still in the Q, and he’s just dropped the gloves to fight some ass who’d called Zimms a washed up version of Bad Bob. After patching up Kent’s scratches and icing his bruised jaw, Zimms had murmured, “I knew I can always count on you, Kenny.”  
  
And Kent had thought then that whatever happens after the draft, as long as he had Zimms, it’d be fine. He did think he had been in love at one point, but observing Bitty and Jack with Annie strangely just reminded Kent of his own family.  
  
“You’ll always have me. Us.” He leans back into Alexei as he watches Jack load up his family and the bags into their car. Kent squints in the dark. “Does Bitty drive a mom van?”  
  
“I think that is Zimmboni’s car,” Alexei says.  
  
“Huh.”  
  
Alexei waits until they pull out from the driveway to say, “…Do you want that ca—”  
  
“I’ll throw myself out the window first.”  
  
Alexei only chuckles and buries his nose in the nape of Kent’s neck. “That is what I thought you would say.”

* * *

  
Leo is tucked in after two stories told by an overly absorbed Alexei. Kent leans against the doorframe and listens to Alexei make up stories with ridiculous characters and even more ridiculous accents for the monsters, beaming softly at how rapt Leo is. Kent leaves before the second story begins and goes to gather up the fallen pillows in the den, sticking them back on the couch where he thinks they belong, more or less. If he’s a regular Martha Stewart in this place, then he’s pretty pleased about it. He thinks it probably comes with the house and the husband and son.  
  
Alexei shows up after about fifteen minutes. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey,” Kent replies. “Leo all tuckered out?”  
  
“It’s incredible I tell same story and he still fascinated.”  
  
“He’s a special kid.”  
  
“I know,” Alexei says, then he must’ve grabbed a remote and turned on an hidden stereo, because a scratchy voice starts to croon lowly, _What a difference a day makes, twenty four little hours…  
  
_ Kent is torn between being mortified that he had, somewhere down the line, turned into a middle-aged parent who listens to ancient jazz and the fact that he’s into it, and that Leo may hear them. “Alexei,” he scolds. “He’ll wake up.”  
  
But Alexei is already taking Kent’s waist, and Kent’s hands automatically drape across Alexei shoulders, as if he had known what to do all along. Maybe they _have_ done it a million times over; that is, swaying in the middle of the family room like the gross married couple they are. Alexei holds him close, but it’s not constricting and Kent finds himself thinking, _Yes, this is mine. I get to have this._  
  
“Leo is out like truck,” he mutters into Kent’s hair, as if that makes sense.  
  
“Isn’t it ‘out like a light’?”  
  
“Yes, but Leo snore like truck.”  
  
“You’re so—God.” Kent honks out a small laugh that he quickly stifles. “I can’t believe this.” _  
_  
“What’s this?”  
  
“That I get to have this.” He exhales deeply, trying to burn the feeling of Alexei’s hands on his back. He’d imagined it once or twice, but it had been with Jack. “How do I have this?”  
  
They’re both leaning in, their mouths meeting lazily and generously. Alexei smells like baby shampoo, and Kent is definitely exhausted and wrecked; the whole thing doesn’t feel sexy as it does comfortable. Kent wants to do this every day.  
  
“You ask me to dinner after game,” Alexei says, when they separate.  
  
“What?” Kent’s eyes are half-lidded and Alexei’s shoulder make for a really fucking great pillow.  
  
“That’s how it happen. You ask me to eat right after game?”  
  
“I did?”  
  
Alexei gives him a look, but Kent just whines back, “Come on, it’s been a long day. Just tell me.”  
  
“Falconers first game of month. We win by a point. You didn’t let go after handshake, and you just say, ‘We get burger right now.’” Alexei’s shoulders are shaking up and down, and Kent realizes that he’s chuckling. “Think you want to poison me.”  
  
“That doesn’t—I didn’t—” Kent gives up. He’s too warm and tired. “Okay, that kind of sounds like me.”  
  
“Of course. You are my Kenny,” Alexei says. “I know what you sounding like.”  
  
Kent swallows at the inflection and tilts his head upwards. Alexei’s eyes are dark, there are hands resting on his ass, and Kent is very glad he’s not the only one getting hard right now. That, plus the combined victorious feeling of having put two children under ten to sleep and having the rest of the night to themselves is becoming a real turn on, even though 70% of him is screaming for sleep. God, he’s such a parent. He wonders if he writes this on his hypothetical mommy blog, too.  
  
“If I don’t pass out by the time we get to bed,” Kent says slowly, intent marking each word, “I want you to fuck me into the headboard.”  
  
Alexei says something Kent guesses is not very nice in Russian, and Kent’s stomach lurches as he finds himself abruptly picked up and almost dropped when Alexei nearly loses his footing. Kent has to muffle a yelp.  
  
“God, be careful!” Kent says, but his heart is flying. “Don’t step on that Lego.”  
  
“You eat too much mac and cheese,” Alexei complains with a huff half-heartedly, squeezing Kent’s ass.  
  
“These are _muscles_.” But Kent is smiling so hard he thinks his face may crack.  
  
By the time they fall on the mattress (Alexei goes into one of the guest bedrooms on purpose, saying, ‘Wow, new room, when we add this?’ which just kills Kent), with Kent on top of Alexei like an undignified blanket, Alexei can barely keep his eyes open. He shoos Kit off the bed, who makes an angry noise but slinks off. However, Alexei starts snoring about thirty seconds after his head hits Kent’s pillow. Kent is sort of aware that he’s starting to drool on Alexei’s chest, but he’s drowsy and happy and gets the strangest feeling that everything is going to start being okay.  
  
“Don’t wanna sleep,” Kent murmurs. “Want you and Leo always.”  
  
“Okay,” Alexei mumbles, then lets out this giant yawn like some ancient forest beast. “Good thing we marry.”  
  
Kent falls asleep with Tater’s slowing knuckles dragging along his spine. 

* * *

  
Kent can’t help but be disappointed when he wakes up back on his 600 thread count duvet in his Vegas apartment. He pulls himself out of bed (9:30 A.M. on a Saturday), brushes his teeth, and tries to not feel sluggish. He finds his phone at the foot of the bed, still dark with no new notifications, and goes into his kitchen for Cinnamon Toast Crunch silently. He doesn’t step on any Legos, and he doesn’t smell pancakes.  
  
He heads outside after puttering aimlessly in his living room for a bit, his feet automatically heading for the gym, but he stops as he remembers something. It’s a long shot, but he enters Jack’s new phone number he’d memorized from his dream, or episode, whatever it had been, and waits.  
  
**[To Unknown Number  
From Kent; 11:43 AM]**  
This is Kent. I’m sorry about everything.  
You’re not worthless. You’ve always been incredible.  
You still are.  
  
He sticks his phone back into his pocket and wonders if there’s a Whole Foods near his house. Before he can manage to take another step, something furry brushes against his ankle and he almost topples.  
  
“Jesus, what the—”  
  
A cat is sitting near his foot, skinny and obviously a stray. It meows plaintively, and Kent realizes that she has the same coloring as Kit. It makes another sound and butts its head into Kent’s shoe. Kent’s eyes soften with recognition and hope as he bends down. He scratches the cat behind its ears and listens to its purr.  
  
“Hey, Kit.”

* * *

  
**[To Kent  
From Unknown Number; 5:09 PM]**  
Call me


End file.
